The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

our women—like a savage he has broken into our Ministry and this very house! And why?”
    “Because you’re a lying, syphilitic—”
    “
Because
,” Crabbé shouted down Chang’s hoarse voice easily, “we offer a vision that will break the stranglehold this man—
and his hidden masters
—have over you all, to keep you at bay, offering scraps while they profit from your labor and your worth! We say all this must end—and their bloody man has come to kill us! You see it for yourselves!”
    The crowd erupted into a chorus of angry cries, and once more Chang felt he had no real understanding of human beings at all. To him, Crabbé’s words were every bit as idiotic and servile as Xonck’s, every bit as fawning and conjured, patently so. And yet his listeners bayed like hounds for Chang’s blood. The Dragoons were losing ground as the crowd pressed nearer. He saw Aspiche, shoved from behind, looking nervously up to the dais—and then to Chang, self-righteously glaring as if this was all
his
fault.
    “Dear friends … please! Please—a moment!” Xonck was smiling, raising his good hand, calling over the noise. The cries fell away at once. The control was astonishing. Chang doubted that these people had even undergone the Process—how could there have been time? But he could scarce understand such a uniform response from an untrained (or un-German) collection of individuals.
    “Dear friends,” Xonck said again, “do not worry—this man shall pay … and pay directly.” He looked at Chang with an eager smile. “We must merely determine the means.”
    “Put down the book, Cardinal,” repeated the Contessa.
    “If anyone moves toward me I will smash it across your beautiful face.”
    “Will you indeed?”
    “It would give me
pleasure
.”
    “So petty, Cardinal—it makes me think less of you.”
    “Well then, I do apologize. If it helps at all, I would choose to kill you not because you have surely killed me already with the glass in my lungs, but because you are truly my most deadly foe. The Prince is an idiot, Xonck I’ve already beaten, and Deputy Minister Crabbé is a coward.”
    “How very bold you are,” she replied, unable to prevent the slightest smile. “What of the Comte d’Orkancz?”
    “He works his art, but you determine that art’s path—he is finally your creature. You even weave your plots against your fellows—do any of them know the work assigned to Mr. Gray?”
    “Mr.… who?” The Contessa’s smile was suddenly fixed.
    “Oh, come now—why be shy? Mr.
Gray
. From the Institute—he was with you in the Ministry—when Herr Flaüss was given the gift of the Process.” He nodded to the portly Macklenburger who, despite the doubting look on his face, nodded back. Before the Contessa could reply Chang called out again. “Mr. Gray’s work was assigned by you, I assume. Why else would I have found him in the depths of the prison tunnels, tampering with the Comte’s furnaces? I have no idea whether he did what you wanted him to do or not. I killed him before we had a chance to exchange our news.”
    He had to give her credit. The words were not two seconds from his mouth before she turned to Crabbé and Xonck with a deadly serious hiss, barely audible beyond the dais.
    “Did you know about this? Did
you
send Gray on some errand?”
    “Of course not,” whispered Crabbé, “Gray answered to
you—
”
    “Was it the Comte?” she hissed again, even more angrily.
    “Gray answered to
you
,” repeated Xonck, his mind clearly working behind his measured tone.
    “Then why was he in the
tunnels
?” asked the Contessa.
    “I’m sure he was not,” said Xonck. “I’m sure the Cardinal is
lying
.”
    They turned to him. Before she could open her mouth Chang pulled his hand from his coat pocket.
    “I believe this is his key,” Chang called out, and he tossed the heavy metal key to clatter on the floor in front of the dais.
    Of course, the key could have been anyone’s—and he doubted any of them knew Gray’s enough to recognize it—but the palpable artifact had the desired effect of seeming to prove his words. He smiled with a grim pleasure, finally feeling a welcoming coldness enter his heart with this final charade of baiting conversation—for Chang knew there was little more dangerous than a man beyond care, and welcomed the chance to sow what dissension he could in these final, doomed moments. The figures on the dais were silent, as was the crowd—though